The Thrills of Otter Hunting

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 544, 22 December 1928, Page 24

The Thrills of Otter Hunting

Furry Scourge Takes a. Toll of River Life

f Written for THE SUV by D I. r * Morrell, 8.A.)

HE sportsmen of New Zealand who find pleain the picturesque reaches of our swarmjug rivers are always

more sure of returning at eventide with a fine catch of salmon or trout than our cousins of the Homeland, for we have not to contend with a furry scourge that takes a heavy toll of the fieh world in the English rivers. Fortunate we are in having no otter to. our waters, but—ou the other hand •-most unfortunate in being denied the thrill of a day’s sport with a wellkept pack of otter hounds, keen to be on the trail. The dawn of a perfect spring day was breaking and a white translucent mist still hung over the river. All was still, save for the subtle movement on the water caused by the rising fiood-tide. Bnt in the depths below darks forms were heading their way up-stream. The salmon were returning from the open sea. back to the tipper reaches where they had been born. Under an old alder tree, in the bank Just above the water's edge, was a dark hole. A rounded head with flattened nostrils poked out and a pair of keen, cunning eyes searched the Water's depths, Madame Otter had ■eased a salmon's approach. -And then she saw him.

Without a sound, the lithe body. With its short limbs and webbed -feet, •lipped into the narrow river. There was scarcely a ripple as the furry form

glided under the surface. Only a chain of bubbles, like a string of beads, marked her passage. The salmon saw her. knew her for an enemy, and with a powerful drive of his tail, put much water between them. But his doom was sealed, and a moment later Madame Otter landed with a steel-grey and silver form held fast between her jaws.

She gorged herself to repletion on the thick parts of his back, then careless of the traces of poaching she had left behind, she took to the water. Her entry frightened the life out of an elderly trout who had been sulkily watching his lordly relations, the salmon, pass on their way. At that moment his life was not worth the water that was passing through his gills, but Madame Otter had breakfasted comfortably and retired to her holt for a gentle nap. But not for long! Suddenly there came the sound of a horn, and the deep bay of hounds picking up the trail. Splashing round the bend of the river came her enemies—a pack of hounds hot on the scent and men—terrible men In royal blue, with red woollen legs and grey bowler hats upon their heads. She crouched back as far as she could into her warm dark holt, hoping they would not find her. A sharp order was given by one of the “red-legs'' and a little rat-like terrier nosed his way into the holt. Luckily he could not reach her, but she could hear the hounds splashing in the water all round, and feel their hot breath as one by one they poked their noses into her holt. Then the huntsman, meeting with

no success, called upon the followers to stamp on the bank above her holt to frighten her out. Scared by the din, she slipped quietly unseen into the water and made up-stream. Not for long was she safe. The keen eyes of the Master of the Pack had spotted the chain of hubbies that marked her passage. The huntsman sounded his horn, and away they went after her. They harried her up-stream and down for an hour until the water was so muddy that all scent was lost. Then the Master called upon his followers to jump into the water and form a barrier with their poles across the stream —“stickle” they called it —and force her to take to a narrow drain for escape. She made a dash for it —a fatal one. She tried to climb the bank, but the hounds weer upon her. One sharp nip in her neck and all was over. The huntsman-leapt Into the drain and whipped off the hounds. He picked her up. called all the followers to form a ring round him with their poles, and weighed her carcase. He cut off her mask and pads, which he presented to the Master s young daughter, who did not quite know whether to De horrified or thrilled—it was her first otter hunt. The Master cheerfully added another ring to the pole he was carrying. Another - kill”-—another otter less. More salmon saved for his rod and line.